Making Merry
by jadey36
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Robin has come calling on Guy. Silly, seasonal crack!smut.


**Disclaimer: ** Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made.

**Author's Note: ** Silly, seasonal crack!smut. Unbeta-d, so all errors are entirely mine.

**Wishing all my readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! **

* * *

**Making Merry**

"For fuck's sake, will you stop doing that!"

Grinning, Robin tosses his bow onto the large bed taking up most of the middle of the bedchamber, noting the new shiny black coverlet and matching pillowcases as he does so.

"Come on, Guy, you know it's me. Who else chooses windows over doors? And you can put the sword down. I haven't come to nick your – correction – my silverware."

"What have you come for then?" Guy looks longingly at his sword, sheathes it with a shrug.

"To offer some seasonal cheer," Robin says, unbuckling his quiver.

"If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of busy right now," Guy grumbles.

"Too busy to make merry with me?" Robin gives Guy a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

"The last time I made merry with you, _outlaw_, I was sore for days," Guy grimaces, unintentionally rubbing his backside.

"Well, I did warn you the hoover attachments were a bad idea," Robin grins. "Anyway, what are you so busy with that you can't spare me a moment or two? It is Christmas Eve, after all."

"Exactly," Guy says. "And Christmas Eve is when I put on my stockings."

"Don't you mean hang up?" Robin asks.

"No." Sighing, Guy slowly unbuckles his leather trousers.

Robin lets out a snort of laughter.

"If you dare make even one stupid remark about this I'll disembowel you," Guy warns, tugging up the black stockings and reattaching them to the equally black suspender belt.

"If I knew we were going to roleplay," Robin says, struggling to keep a straight face, "I'd have worn my lacy pink knickers."

"You do _not_ have lacy pink knickers," Guy says, swearing as he catches his fingers in one of the suspenders' clips.

"Actually, I do," Robin says. "You sent them to me last Christmas, remember?"

"How do you know I sent them to you? It was a Secret Santa."

"Because Marian wouldn't know sexy underwear if it came up and bit her on the nose."

"Ah," Guy says, his eyes lighting up. "Now we're getting to the bottom...spare me the witticisms...of your untimely visit. Miss Icy Knickers has given you the heave-ho, so you thought you'd come and bother me."

"For your information," Robin retorts, "Marian was busy this evening."

"Busy avoiding you," Guy mumbles, sauntering over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and admiring his reflection, among other things.

"I told you," Guy continues, cursing when he notices a small run in the top of the stockings, "I'm busy. If I don't get a move on, I'll be late, and the Sheriff doesn't like to be kept waiting, especially on Christmas Eve. He'll have my balls for baubles." Guy faces away from Robin. The last thing he wants the outlaw to see is the sprig of mistletoe he is reluctantly attaching to the waistband of his leather boxer shorts.

"I think," Robin says, nodding towards the window, "that you have a good excuse to be late. Indeed, a good enough excuse not to turn up at all."

Without thinking, Guy turns to the window. Robin's barely withheld laughter turns into a coughing fit that almost brings him to his knees. Which is probably a good thing considering what's happening in his underpants. Even though he and Guy have been shagging each other for the past month – in between pretending to try to kill one another – there is no way Robin is going to let the bastard know that he's gagging for it.

"Snow, so what?" Guy says, shrugging.

"So, it's several inches thick and stiffening...I mean, deepening by the minute," Robin manages.

"The Sheriff will still expect—"

"The Sheriff," Robin says, cutting him off, "is presently trying to untangle a mile-long string of Christmas lights intended for the castle's Christmas tree."

"Rubbish! He has servants for that sort of thing."

"Not tonight he doesn't," Robin smiles. "I managed to convince all the guards, along with the castle staff, that the Sheriff had said they could have the night off."

"You think of everything, don't you," Guy grumbles, starting to undo the much-hated stockings.

"Er...leave them on," Robin says, fidgeting.

"Not bloody likely," Guy growls. "They smell of nail polish, bird droppings and something else distinctly sheriff-y, which I'd rather not mention."

While Guy is rolling the stockings down his legs, Robin clumsily digs into his arrowless quiver and pulls out a flagon of mulled wine.

"I was going to share this with Marian, but she's doing her embroidery this evening, so I thought I'd share it with you."

"Embroidery," Guy scoffs. "Buffing that ridiculous mask she wears more like."

"What ridiculous mask would this be?" Robin asks, carefully keeping his face devoid of all expression.

"The night-watchman thingy. Oh, don't pretend you don't know all about it."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" Robin asks, secretly relieved that he can stop making up lies about the night-watchman being a slim man who just happens to have very large pectoral muscles.

"Because I didn't want anyone to catch wind that I knew the truth," Guy says, "especially Marian. Dressed in her usual clothing, she doesn't really do much for me, but that outfit – long boots, tight pants and a leather jerkin that couldn't hide a ping pong ball let alone a pair of tits – is quite a turn on."

At the mention of Marian, his supposed betrothed, coupled with Guy having stepped back into his leather trousers, Robin finds his erection falling as fast as the snow outside.

"Christmas drink?" he asks, waving the flagon at Guy.

"I suppose, seeing as it's the season of goodwill and all that, that one drink can't do any harm," Guy says, clearly still in a less than generous mood despite not having to suffer his usual Christmas torment at the hands, not to mention gold-toothed mouth, of Sheriff Vaisey.

Hoping a goblet of mulled wine might make Guy a little friendlier and a little less likely to charge at him with a drawn sword, Robin heads off to Locksley's kitchens to warm it up.

Meanwhile, Guy tosses the piece of mistletoe on the bed, grins. Nothing like letting the arrogant, cocksure Robin Hood think his luck's not in tonight. Guy slides a hand between his legs and stifles a moan. Later.

* * *

Several large goblets of warm spiced wine later, the Sheriff and Marian long since forgotten in favour of a game of trading insults, Robin tips the flagon upside-down, dismayed when he finds it empty.

"Do you have any more of that stuff?" Guy asks, his words punctuated by a series of undignified hiccups.

"How big do you think my fucking quiver is?" Robin slurs.

"Nowhere near as big as mine," Guy winks.

"There must be some wine lurking in the cellars," Robin suggests. "Shall we go investigate?"

"Go by yourself. I really don't think I can move from this bed right now."

"I'd rather not."

"Why not?" Guy asks. "Afraid the ghost of Christmas past will come to haunt you?"

"No, afraid of the dark."

Guy guffaws. "Robin-hero-of-Acre-the-big-I-am-Hood, afraid of the dark!"

"Shut up, it isn't funny."

"It is from where I'm sitting." Guy pats the coverlet, reminding Robin of the last time they got up to naked shenanigans. Robin had to hide underneath the black sheets while a puzzled Marian stood in the bedchamber demanding to know why Guy took his horse to bed and shouldn't he at least let the poor animal breathe.

"Anyway, I'm too woozy to go all the way down to the cellar," Robin says, wiggling himself upright on the leather covered chair. "Why don't you go?"

"Because this is your house," Guy says.

"Not the last time I looked, it wasn't," Robin counters.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. We'll both go, all right?"

Guy lurches off the bed, and, after a couple of attempts, successfully finds the door.

"I think I'll lead," Robin smiles.

Grabbing a flaming torch en route, the two men steal through the slumbering house – the servants having long since retired to their quarters – and head for the cellars, Guy behind Robin.

"What's that?" Robin hisses, as they skirt around the wine barrels looking for a likely one.

"What's what?"

"That, poking into me?"

"Oh, that's my Christmas cracker." Guy presses suggestively into Robin's back, winds his arms around the outlaw's chest.

"Well, save it until we're back upstairs, and help me fill this flagon."

"Actually, I could do with a piss," Guy says letting go of Robin.

"Save that as well," Robin whispers, finding a wine-filled barrel and filling up the flagon.

* * *

Sometime later, after several wrong turns and a stumble into a very tempting broom cupboard, Robin and Guy find themselves back in the main bedchamber.

Robin eyes the piece of mistletoe lying on the bed. "Want to play rude alphabet _I-Spy_?" he asks.

"You and your childish games," Guy sighs. "Go on, then. As it's Christmas."

Upon failing to find a suitably filthy word for the letter Q, both men well aware of the other's mounting state of excitement, Guy picks up the piece of mistletoe and pats the bed. "Time for your Christmas present, I think."

"It's not Christmas Day yet," Robin protests, partly because he's a traditionalist and partly because, unbeknownst to Guy, he spunked himself somewhere around the letter M.

"I beg to differ," Guy says, pointing at the window.

Guy is right. The first blush of dawn is clearly visible through the shuttered window.

Knowing he might need a little help rising to the occasion, Robin pours and hands Guy a large goblet of wine, remembering that Guy has yet to relieve himself. Guy, forgetting that he has yet to relieve himself, accepts the wine.

They go back to A, reach P, Robin feels recharged, and Guy remembers, too late, what he meant to do earlier.

* * *

"Ouch," Guy protests, as Robin clambers back on top of him for the third time. "Is this how you ride your horse?"

"I walk mostly," Robin says between gritted teeth, trying to concentrate both on the encouraging tickle between his legs and staying on top of Guy.

"Remind me to give you lessons sometime soon," Guy says, fixing his eyes on Robin's chest hairs and idly wondering if he should stop shaving his own chest.

"Don't worry," Robin grins, "I will." He closes his eyes, almost loses it when he imagines Guy's house-staff puzzling over the wet sheets and then gets it back when Guy gives an unbridled groan of pleasure.

"This better?" Robin asks.

"Fuck, yes," Guy grinds out. "Good rhythm, almost perfect saddle, tight thighs."

"Good," Robin says, heart beating fast, sweat beading on his forehead. "Because there's a high fence coming up, possibly a double-hedged water jump." With a throaty cry of abandon, he shudders and then slumps on top of Guy. "Cleared it," he says, triumphantly.

Without giving the outlaw time to recover his breath, Guy rolls them over and proceeds to show Robin just what a good horseman he is.

* * *

"Business as usual tomorrow?" Robin says as he shoulders his bow and prepares to climb out the window.

"Business as usual," Guy says, plucking the piece of crumpled mistletoe from his backside, although he's damned if he can remember what their usual business is. It'll probably come back to him, he supposes.

"Happy Christmas, Gisborne," Robin says, blowing Guy a kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Hood," Guy says distractedly, his mind already on how he's going to explain last night's absence to the Sheriff.

With a head thumping almost as loudly as the bed head bashing against the wall during their enthusiastic sex, Robin falls off the window ledge.

Fortunately for the outlaw, the snow is deep.

**The End **


End file.
